That stage is like a Chapel,
I kneel at your feet, begging, breaking, bending.
Let me shape your supple form and place you upon that pedestal,
Crumbling, in disarray between my fingers.
I'm not superhuman, I'm barely human at all.
I'll jive and joke and be the personal puppet.
Behind my eyes I'll maim and kill and brew,
Don't wait for me,
I'll be gone before sunrise and I'll arrive at noon.
I'll tell you how great it was,
How great you are ( as I begin to shed my skin).
Do you like who I've become?
My skin jagged shapes of the crosses from which he hung,
Such divinity, such beauty, such scandal.
A deer in the ( headlights) headlines.





















